


Kinda, Sorta, Maybe a Good Idea at the Time

by seal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 00:32:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seal/pseuds/seal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles loses his virginity to a tall, dark and handsome hooker. Or so he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kinda, Sorta, Maybe a Good Idea at the Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/4407.html?thread=2640183#t2640183) on the kink meme.

This will go down as either one of the best ideas that he’s ever had or one of the worst disasters in the history of the world.

Stiles stares at the ceiling of the motel room he’s currently renting as he tries to fight down the nervousness churning in the pit of his stomach. He’s so on edge that he could feel his own heart, like each beat is another tick in the countdown of his own demise. Admittedly, the reality of the matter is not as dramatic, or as fatal, but it certainly feels that way.

It’s exciting, terrifying and extremely nerve wracking waiting like this.

 _This is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea_ , his traitorous mind supplies and he has a moment of blind panic and guilt and he becomes so restless that laying on the bed just isn’t an option anymore.

Stiles gets up, off the bed and paces across the room and back, mind racing through different disaster scenarios, working himself up into a near nervous breakdown. When his imagination starts to supply him with images of zombies and the apocalypse and he concedes that he might need to do something to take his mind off of how he just ordered a call-boy and plans on using him to lose his twenty year old virginity.

It wasn’t his original plan, of which consisted mostly of holding out for his one true love - the lovely and beautiful Lydia Martin - and borderline stalking her for the past decade. It was a pretty sad plan, thinking back. And sometime between third grade and high school graduation (and a few horrifically awkward and traumatizing conversations with his dad about pregnancy and STDs notwithstanding), he figured out that a) Lydia would have eyes only for one Jackson Douchebag Wittmore despite her impeccable taste in everything else in life and b)he’s actually not just interested in boobs. And yet, practically doubling his applicant pool did not result in any action - a bit frustrating considering Scott managed to homerun with Allison within the first month of their first meeting and they _still_ coo at each other. It’s totally unfair, so Stiles has to take matters into his own hands.

And that’s what got him here, pacing around in a motel room having a minor stroke over how he’s ordered a hooker. This is actually happening. 

Luckily, his nerves are nothing in the face to the sugary goodness that is high fructose corn syrup and before he can even think more about how this is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea, he’s got about six twizzlers in his mouth simultaneously. It gives him a nice buzz and it distracts him long enough to take his mind off of the nervous energy still swirling at the pit of his stomach.

 _I can do this._ he thinks to himself.

Of course, that’s when a knock on the door startles him out of his bliss.

Stiles stares at the closed door and can’t help but notice how the cherry wood stain looks old and worn. He should be doing something right now, but his mind doesn’t seem to want to provide an answer on that front.

Another knock kicks his brain back into gear and he lunges at the door, half tripping and half crawling towards the door. He loses the candy somewhere between the desk and the door, but it’s not important.

He yanks the door open and in the last second, schools his expression into something less desperate and crazy-eyed.

“Hi,” Stiles says but anything else that he may have said dies in his throat when his brain finally processes the man who is standing in front of the door, “uhh...” he says intelligently.

He’s gorgeous. The guy they sent is a walking Adonis. Tall, dark, and handsome are the first things that come to mind. Hazel eyes, broad shoulders, arm muscles practically straining against the fabric of his jacket and oh, just look at those abs framed so nicely through the tight t-shirt. Stiles thinks he could possibly get lost in those abs, just curl up and snuggle on them and be content for the rest of his life. Possibly.

“Hi,” the gorgeous man answers back, looking a bit surprised, “Are you-”

“Yes.” Stiles says immediately, eyes snapping back up again. And any doubt he had before going through with it melts away when the stranger smiles, all perfect white teeth and attractive stubble. Stiles feels his heart beating erratically and he thinks he may actually be hyperventilating, but he’s so excited that it doesn’t even register. He fists the man’s jacket and tugs him closer. 

The man goes willingly, even leaning in to meet his lips and steadying himself by curling a hand firmly around Stiles’ hip.

The kiss is wet, open-mouthed, desperate and delicious. Stiles is riding the high of it as the man presses his tongue in and he can’t help but melt into it with a sigh, relaxing along the length of the other man’s body. He can feel the muscle - long, lean and strong - shift under his touch and it is the greatest feeling in the world. 

“I’m Stiles,” he says breathlessly after they finally pull apart for air.

“Derek,” the other man replies, a smile playing on his lips. He closes his eyes and buries his nose in Stiles’ neck and _inhales_. He says, “You smell amazing,” low and deep and it gets Stiles’ dick so interested so fast it’s almost painful.

“Uh, thanks?” Stiles still thinks it is a little overboard with the compliments - he is just paying for the sex after all - but it’s nice to know your partner isn’t put off by your natural body odor.

Derek manhandles him away from the open door and further into the room. There’s a generic oil painting of a forest hanging in the hallway behind him. Stiles is startled enough by the stark difference to the room’s plain interior to realize that he just made out with a stranger practically in the middle of the hallway. 

“Oh god,” he says, “close the door, _close the door_.” He reaches over the other man’s shoulders and tries to bat at the still open door, a futile exercise, as it is now too far away for him to reach.

Derek doesn’t let him move, hand still on his hip in a vice, and gives Stiles a teasing look, “Embarrassed?”

“Hardly,” Stiles says as he rolls his eyes, “I’m just not an exhibitionist.” And maybe he’s watched too much porn in his day. Maybe he’s going to sound desperate, which he kind of is anyway. Whatever. He’s going for it. “I’m up for just about anything behind closed doors, though,” he whispers directly against the shell of Derek’s ear, “Many, many, times. And in many different positions.”

There’s a stretch in which Derek’ is so silent and still that Stiles thinks maybe he did go too far and he needs to apologize or something to salvage this, but then Derek practically growls “Fine by me,” in a strained voice as he simultaneously kicks the door closed with a bang and lifts Stiles over his shoulder like he weighs nothing as he walks towards the bed. This guy is so getting such a generous tip when they’re done. 

Stiles feels a fleeting sense of vertigo before he hits the mattress and bounces back across the bed. When he gets his bearings straight again, he reaches up to pull the other man down again so that they could crash together, all lips and tongue. 

Oh yeah, this is definitely the best idea ever.


End file.
